Trapped
by Gimli's Pickaxe
Summary: Warning : Slightly AU, Oneshot. 'I have lingered too long, and now I cannot go. I cannot go.'


**Trapped**

'_I have lingered too long, and now I cannot go. I cannot go.'_

* * *

The waves crash onto the grey hull of my ship with a vengeance. A part of it shatters upon the impact, dissipating into a frothing foam of white, yet a good amount of it sloshes over the thin piece of wood to soak into my cloak yet again. I am wet and chilled to the bone, and the wind roars by my ears, deafening in all its glory. I am deaf; I hear but I cannot hear.

I have been sailing west, for far longer than I care to remember, and now I suspect I have forgotten all else but to breathe, to watch the endless undulating waves upon the sea, to set my course by the sun and stars, and sail. It is a single-minded existence, one that is sustained only by a thin, treacherous thread of hope.

I claw my hands, raking them over my heart, in a vain attempt to do something about that cursed silence that resides inside my heart. I had long lost the call of the sea, that faint, yet insistent, song that never ceased to call me towards the pounding waves and the cry of the gulls. That searing pain now rests. It has rested for a long while.

Inside, it is dreadfully silent, yet outside the storm rages. I know I am sailing west, towards the blessed shores of Aman – for those lands lie towards the west; this much I know.

I know I am sailing west, for the sun and the stars confirm it. Even as I sail towards skies uncharted and unknown to me, I check my angle against the sun as meticulously as one possible could, at every chance and pause I get. I am sailing west, but am I sailing true? My course does not falter, but my heart does not sing, and I feel a trepidation unlike anything I have ever known.

Deep inside my mind, I hear a whisper half forgotten, a whisper from my darkest dreams and fears, a whisper I hope with everything I have to prove untrue.

_You have lingered too long,_ it cries. _And now you are lost. Now you are lost._

I watched my mortal friends fade away, one by one. I was the one to close their eyes for them after they drew their last breaths, the one to clad them in funeral white and put their beloved weapons in their hands. I was the one to engrave their gravestones with tears and words of love. The one to adorn them with the freshest of flowers, blue and yellow and white and rosy pink, every wretched year after their passing.

And then, of course, I thought to leave – but there was always just one more thing, just one more thing I had to do. Nagging at me, insisting that my time on Arda had not yet come to an end. Aragorn's grave needed tending, young Eldarion needed advice, and I had to visit the green boughs of my childhood home just one last time. And why not wait just a little while, until Sam's little Elanor grows up, until Eldarion has little ones of his own?

Then why not wait until Eldarion dies, his children grow up and marry, and have children of their own? After all, a century is such a short time in the life of an immortal. This much I could do. This much I owed to my friends.

There was always just one more thing that needed my attention. Just one, single, nagging thing. The sea called, and I did not listen. I heeded it not, even as it reached deafening peaks, crashing and swirling inside my mind, calling to me as desperately as a choking soul clutches to air. And then it fell silent, and I was happy. For there was yet something more that I should accomplish in Middle Earth. And the quenching of the sea meant one less distraction to hinder me.

Surely I must rejoice – yet even then, I felt the barest trickle of trepidation, like a drop of water against cold stone, in the deepest recesses of my heart.

Again, I hear them, the torturous whispers. I frantically try to calm them, to trounce them with the deafening crashes of tide and wind, but it is to no avail. My hands claw at my heart. Silence, silence, and I can hear naught. I feel that my tunic must tear soon. It stretches dangerously.

_You lingered too long. Now you cannot go. You cannot go._

Ever taunting. Ever there.

I watched as the Shire turned to rubble, than dust, watched the hobbits fade from the boundaries of known history, out of the wildest imaginations of man. I watched as men encroached into the great forests that I once called home, ever hacking, exploring, claiming just one more bit of land to call their own. I watched kingdoms rise and fall, I watched as magic faded from the land. I watched as the trees sang no more, as they whispered, as they slowly fell silent, and even I could not hear them.

I watched as all of dwarf-kind passed even from the boundaries of human lore, I watched as elves faded into a thing of ancient legend, and more. I watched the land writhe and change shape, like some great slumbering beast, under the great hand of time.

I waited, until all the bloodlines of my old friends faded into nothingness, naught but the faintest drop of blood in the many hordes of man that now swarmed the surface of Earth. I waited until the voices of the Valar were silenced, and I could hear the song of the world no more. I waited. I waited.

I waited until Middle Earth held no promise for me any more, until it was rendered a strange and new land with nothing for me to recognize. I waited, until I was absolutely sure there was nothing left, nothing left for me in this strange new land that was Middle Earth no more.

Then I sailed.

Even as I slowly built the slender vessel to bear me away, I heard a whisper, an incessant tug against the strongest barriers of my mind, torturing, taunting, wearying :

_You have lingered too long. Now you will not find the way. You cannot go. You cannot go._

I built myself a grey ship, after the ageless designs of my people. I struck my way west, the sun as my guide, although the call of the sea had long since faded into nothingness. Long I sailed, my garments stiffening in the salt and the harsh winds, the skin over my face agonizingly dry and close to cracking. For the first time in a very, very long period of time, I felt weak, and something came dangerously close to breaking deep, deep inside my soul.

I loved too much, I loved too fiercely. I waited for the sake of my mortal love, I lingered because I could not bear to leave, because I could not bear to forget how brightly those mortal lives had burned. And now I truly wonder.

_I have lingered too long. So can I not go? Have I lost my way?_

Pounding waves threaten to sink my ship, but beyond all else I still have within me the strength of the Eldar. I hang on, white, clammy fingers hugging the thin grey wood, my one free hand frantically scooping water out of the vessel. It is yet another storm I must weather. I have weathered many others.

The tempest breaks, the waves calm, and I sink into a dull reverie. The sun glistens off the sea like a million silver daggers, and it hurts my eyes. I am utterly spent, and I ask myself how much longer I shall sail West until I find my rest. I am beginning to doubt that there will even be an end to this damned journey of mine.

I loved too much, I think bitterly. I loved too much, too deep, and thus I have lingered too long. A moment of bliss, while it lasted; and now it has come to an end. Thus I pay my price.

_Have the blessed lands truly been barred from me? Can I not go? Can I not go?_

* * *

I slip, slowly, into awareness. My lips are salty and there is a terrible burning strength in my mouth. There is solid ground under me, I realize.

There is ground under me.

I have come to my journey's end.

I jolt up, unsteady on my legs. And yet already I know. I know, with a terrible, searing certainty, that this is not the blessed havens that I had seeked. Perhaps - deep in my mind, I had already known even before I had commenced my journey. Perhaps I had always known, ever since the sea had ceased to sing to my soul.

And yet – this is when I truly understand.

Faces flash before me; faces I have known since my birth, faces I have known for millennia. Faces I now begin to doubt if I shall ever see again. My father, regal and proud, a crown of berries upon his golden head, an unreadable gleam in those ageless eyes of his. My mother, my sweet, sweet mother. Comrades, lost in battle, comrades lost to darkness and to grief. Voices raised in merry song under the green boughs of my olden home, the hauting tune tugging upon my heart and setting my legs tapping.

If I die now, will I even join them in the halls of Mandos?

I hear a low, uneven keening, a broken, hopeless wail, that could only come of a mind so thoroughly shattered that it cannot possibly ever be the same again. Then, I realize : that sound is coming from me. A lament that stands for everything I once had been.

A strange, yellow–skinned face, garbed loosely fitting trousers and a half-open tunic of tattered white hemp, appears among the rocks, and gestures to me. The man spouts words in a strange language I cannot even begin to fathom.

_This is not Valinor. I am not in Valinor. I sailed west, and I could not go._

Again, I understand, and it hurts; it is not a hurt that will go away with time. I cannot go, I cannot go. I sailed, hoping against hope for a land to heal my thrice-damned soul; and my journey's end is this strange, new land I cannot dare begin to understand. It hurts. I hurt with every last remnant of fading strength I hold in my tired soul. And I am so tired. Valar, I am so tired. I am so tired that I cannot even despair.

So many faces I will never see again, and I do not have it in me to even despair.

_I cannot go. I cannot go._

A colorful butterfly flits across my eyes. It is orange, boldly marked with swirling patterns of black, its exotic appearance yet another scratch upon my dull, pounding hurt. I still do not hear the song of creation, and these trees have long forgotten speech. I am thirstier than ever, my ribs protrude against my skin, I am wretchedly weak. I feel no healing touch upon my soul.

Slowly, surely, all of my hopes sift away like dandelion seeds upon a spring gale.

And only now do I realize the truth. I have always suspected, I had always known, but I did not want to believe. But now I believe. Now I face the truth.

_I have lingered too long, and now I cannot go. I cannot go._

_I am trapped upon these shores._

* * *

A/N : For those who are confused by this story, this story is AU in that Legolas did not sail to the Undying Lands with Gimli. He stayed on Middle Earth until Gimli died, and for a long while after that, until most traces of magic faded from Middle Earth. When he finally decides to sail, he finds that he cannot reach the shores of Valinor any more, and despairs. And that is what this oneshot is all about.

As always, reviews and constructive criticism is very, very appreciated!


End file.
